Returning to the Studio
- Nathan Cranston
- 1 day ago
- 2 min read
There’s a certain silence that follows an exhibition. After weeks of preparing work, framing, transporting, and talking - the noise fades, and the familiar stillness of the studio returns. The brushes are waiting, the tables are covered in dried paint, and there’s a faint scent of turpentine in the air.
Coming back to this space always feels like exhaling. It’s a return to something simple - the rhythm of paint, the sound of bristles moving across canvas, the hum of quiet work.
Rediscovering Rhythm
In the rush of preparing for exhibitions, I often find myself working with intensity - deadlines have a way of compressing creativity into something focused and fast. But in the weeks that follow, I slow down.
I move between canvases without pressure, layering paint, scraping it back, letting intuition lead. Some pieces begin again entirely, others evolve from fragments left behind. These are my favourite moments - when process takes over, and something unplanned begins to surface.
“Coming back to the studio after showing work publicly always feels like breathing again - a return to where ideas begin.”
A Space for Stillness
The studio is more than a workspace; it’s a conversation. Between colour and texture, between control and release. It’s where new ideas whisper before they form into something whole.
I’ve learned that stillness isn’t the absence of movement - it’s the balance between moments. The time spent layering and erasing, quiet and gesture, reflection and creation. Each painting grows from this rhythm.
As the light changes through the day, I notice things differently - subtle tones in blue, the way texture catches shadow, the calm that follows the noise of exhibiting. These are the details that bring me back to painting.
Gratitude in the Process
After each show, I feel deeply thankful - for those who come to see the work, for conversations that spark connection, and for the chance to share what once existed only within the studio walls.
But more than anything, I’m grateful for this part - for the quiet between exhibitions. It’s where my best work begins again.
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